


At First Sight

by rain_sleet_snow



Series: My Family (And Other Dinosaurs) [27]
Category: Primeval
Genre: F/F, F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-02-01
Updated: 2009-02-01
Packaged: 2018-03-10 00:13:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,523
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3269531
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rain_sleet_snow/pseuds/rain_sleet_snow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lyle indulges in a spot of matchmaking.</p>
            </blockquote>





	At First Sight

**Author's Note:**

> This is all Fifi’s fault. And Luka’s. For the puzzled (and God knows I don’t blame you!) Emily is Emily Sayers, Juliet’s mother and one of Lester’s closest friends (see Takeaways And Too Much Information and Brief Encounter.) Also, for non-Brits: British people like moaning about their trains, and their failure to run in adverse conditions. One of the most famous examples of this was the defence for an extremely late train – leaves on the line. When the Great British Public brought the annual phenomenon of autumn and leaves falling off trees to the train company’s attention, and pointed out that it would be impractical to have very slow trains once a year if the problem could be fixed, the train company’s response was that the leaves on the line were the wrong sort of leaves. And Twix are chocolate bars- biscuit with caramel stuff on top wrapped in a thin layer of chocolate.

                Emily Sayers sat on the bonnet of her car, and considered the world at large. There was a CCF camp on the verge of ending, which her daughter ought to be coming out of any minute now. There was a large school coach, roughly the same shape and colour as a toaster, but several hundred times larger. There was her own dark blue Mini, stuffed to the gills with packed bags, ready for the journey ahead. There was Emily herself: small, blonde, wearing skinny jeans, irritatingly perfect black nail polish, and black ankle boots laden with more nuts and bolts than the average bondage harness.

 

                She certainly didn’t _look_ forty-two, Emily consoled herself, or old enough to have a sixteen-year-old daughter, and added to herself: _bloody birthdays_.

 

                In an attempt to distract herself, she looked around at the last notable item of the scenery. It was a large black jeep, muddy around the wheels, also stuffed to the gills but with young men rather than items of baggage. Going on what she could see, that mostly being an arm sticking out of a window, which was tanned, muscled, and (Emily blinked rapidly) playing with a knife, they’d be very nice to look at if Emily could actually _see_ them, and definitely a very good distraction from her birthday and the boredom of waiting for Juliet to escape from CCF.

 

                Forty-two. How had _that_ happened? She sighed, and then pricked up her ears as a recognisable voice issued from the windows of the jeep. 

 

                “Oi! Finn, you cheeky bugger!”

 

                Emily grinned, and swung her weight onto her feet; that was all the excuse she needed, really. The voice continued as she strolled over, and her grin widened.

 

“Give that _back_! You evil little sod!-“

 

Emily reached the jeep, and rapped admonishingly on the half-open window by the voice’s owner. “Jonathan Lyle, do you kiss your boyfriend with that mouth?” she demanded reprovingly, and was satisfied to see Jon leap out of his skin and hear the laughter from the other occupants of the car. A quick glance around them proved that they were exactly as fun to look at as she’d thought they would be, if not more so: Jon wasn’t bad looking at all, and some of these others definitely surpassed him, for example the knife-wielder Emily had spotted, who had the brightest green eyes she had ever seen.

 

“Your age is showing,” Lyle retorted, grinning at her and getting a single-finger salute in return. “What’re you doing here, Em?”

 

Emily shrugged. “Picking up Juliet.  We have a ferry to catch.”

 

“Where are you going?” Lyle asked, and even as she was formulating the answer Emily noticed that the man in the driving seat was watching her with interest.

 

“Belfast,” she replied. “My brother’s working there at the moment, and we’re going out to visit him for the week.”

 

“What’s he do?”

 

“BBC cameraman. He considers whatever it is he’s up to light relief from Zimbabwe, so he’s inclined to doss around a bit, and his boss is inclined to indulge him. What are you up to?”

 

                Lyle raised his eyebrows. “What’s Auntie doing in Zimbabwe? I thought they were banned?”  


                Emily grinned, and leaned against the car. The driver really _was_ watching her, and that was an interesting little smile on his face. And smoking hot, too: clever, vivid blue eyes, sensual lips, very short brown hair, and nice hands, broad and strong where one of them rested casually on the steering wheel. Hmm. “There are bans and there are bans, and then there’s Ben and his friends. Anyway, what mischief are you perpetrating? I insist on knowing so I can mock James properly when he rings up to moan about the resulting diplomatic incident.”

 

                Lyle laughed at her. “Just caving. I couldn’t possibly get into trouble _caving_.”

 

                Emily summoned up her most lascivious grin. “I don’t know. James tells me stories...”

 

                For a moment, a tell-tale horrified expression flickered across Lyle’s face, and everyone else burst out laughing. Emily reached in to pat his head condescendingly, knowing that the idea of Lester telling her about wild sex beneath the surface of the earth was just plausible enough to shake Lyle (even if, to date, Lester had refused to give up any of the juicy details Emily knew were there, waiting to be discovered). “That was as good as a confession, sweetie. No, I meant what are you doing here?”

 

                “I don’t think I want to bloody tell you now,” Lyle said sulkily.

 

Emily smiled sweetly at him, and switched her attention to the man in the driver’s seat, letting her smile broaden. “You look smarter than Jon here.” Lyle yelped in protest, and was roundly ignored. “Why don’t _you_ tell me what’s going on?”

 

The driver grinned back at her, mischievous and familiar, like a conspirator, and Emily felt a knot tighten in her stomach as she recognised someone willing to play her games. “Always glad to help a lady,” he said. “We’re here to pick up Lyle’s heathen brat of a stepdaughter thing.”

 

 Emily noticed that he had a nice voice, warm and drawling like the sunshine on the back of her neck, suddenly realised where her brain was going, and was forced to hijack her train of thought before it overshot the destination and went somewhere very, very different from discovering what Jon was up to. She was a respectable middle-aged woman, for God’s sake! The glitter in the man’s blue eyes told her that he knew exactly where her train of thought was headed, and, moreover, he was prepared to change the points, make sure the leaves on the line were the right sort, and derail everything else headed for that station in order to make sure it got there faster. Emily raised her eyebrows at him, and cast a pointed glance into the car. “Where are you going to stow her, on the roof-rack? Liz isn’t a little thing.”  


“Maybe from your point of view,” Lyle interrupted, which raised a laugh. “She’s still at least four inches shorter than everyone here.”

 

Emily flicked his nose with one immaculate black fingernail. “ _Just_ because I’m a shortarse.”

 

“We could probably stick you in the boot,” Lyle offered, clutching his injured nose.

 

                Emily wrinkled her nose. “From what James has told me of your personal hygiene, I’d prefer not.”             

 

                “Oi!”

 

                “It’s true Jon’s cleanliness leaves something to be desired,” the driver drawled, grinning, and got a filthy look from Lyle.

 

                “Throw ’em at the wall, and if they don’t stick you can wear them for at least another week,” Lyle chanted. “Didn’t you learn that rule?”

 

                Emily laughed at both of them, and swung sharply round as she heard the creak of an electric gate opening. “A-ha, here the little monsters come.”

 

                The black gates to the camp creaked open, disgorging sixty or so teenagers of varying ages and sexes, all dressed anonymously in CCF uniform and plainly just waiting until they got onto the school bus to burst into an absolute racket.  The majority of the group went to the bus, flinging large dirty green bergens into its innards and bunching up into a noisy bottleneck at the door, but two girls separated themselves from the racket and came over towards the jeep, still deep in conversation with each other. The shorter girl, blonde and feather-delicate beside her taller, darker friend, stopped for a moment by the blue Mini and examined it, apparently surprised to see no parent inside, and then looked up at the other girl and gave an expressive full-body shrug that said _I don’t know what the hell she’s done now_.

 

                There was a short conversation – Emily amused herself by trying to guess all 0f it; it was much too fun to end by stepping out from behind the jeep – which ended in the taller girl giving a smaller shrug, kissing the blonde thoroughly and continuing over towards the jeep, where she encountered Emily.

 

                “Hello,” Liz Lester said, with only mild surprise. “Juliet thinks you’ve gone walkabout. Oh, happy birthday, by the way.”

 

                “ _Damn_ you, Elizabeth Alison Lester,” Emily said with feeling. “I was trying to _forget_ about that, thank you so much.”

 

“Oops. Sorry,” Liz said unrepentantly, and turned to the car’s occupants. “Hi, guys. Can somebody unlock the boot, or will it all fall out on me if I try and put anything else in there?”

 

“Probably not,” Lyle said, and the driver pressed a button on the dashboard. There was a click from the back of the car, and Liz went round, shrugging the heavy Bergen off her shoulders and hauling open the boot of the jeep to stuff it in.

 

Emily pushed herself away from the jeep and put her weight on both feet, with some regret. “I’d better be going. Juliet will call out the police or something.”  


“Have a nice time in Ireland,” Liz said, and there was the sound of something slithering. “Oh, bugger. Who uses purple bloody ropes anyway?”

 

“Those are Finn’s. Stuff ’em back in,” Lyle called back at her, and then grinned at Emily. “Have a great holiday. Say hi to Juliet from me.”

 

She grinned back at him, and tried to keep her eyes from flashing past him to the man in the driver’s seat, who by now had somehow found the legroom to sprawl across most of the front seat. Emily wasn’t sure she’d seen anything quite as louche in her life before. “Sure. Tell James I’m so _very_ sorry.”

 

“What?” Lyle said, sounding puzzled. Liz laughed, slammed the boot shut and hauled open the car door.

 

“I’ll be sure to tell him,” Liz promised, brown eyes glittering with mischief, and slid into the car. “Budge up, Finn. See you, Emily!”

 

Emily smiled, and walked away to her own car, ready to receive a serious lecture from Juliet.

 

 

***

 

“Did you have fun?” Lyle enquired, craning his neck to look at Liz in the back seat, which had been full to capacity before and was now crammed.

 

“Yeah,” she said, and added, grinning, “Simon fell in a ditch. Where’s Dad?”

 

“He’s catching the train.”

 

“Huh,” Liz said, and retrieved from her pocket and started to eat a large, slightly squashed Twix bar.

 

“Juliet all right?”

 

“Oh, fine,” Liz said, through a mouthful of Twix, most of which stayed in her mouth despite her talking.

 

“Who’s Juliet?” Finn asked, curiosity getting the better of him.

 

“The blonde girl I was with,” Liz explained, breaking off a bit of Twix and dangling it in front of Lyle’s face until he snatched it and called her a miserable swine for not giving him more. “My girlfriend.”

 

“Oh,” Finn said, and frowned. “You mean your friend who’s a girl?”

 

“No,” Liz said patiently, resisting the temptation to tap Finn’s head to see if it was solid right through. “I mean my _girlfriend_. Like a boyfriend, only a girl.”

 

“Like Miss Lewis and Dr. Page,” Stringer said helpfully, changing lanes and swearing horribly at a motorcyclist. “Not like Miss Lewis and Miss Wickes.”

 

“Oh,” Finn said. “Right.”

 

“Got there in the end,” Blade said, and caught an elbow in the kidneys. “Bastard!”

 

“Don’t kill each other,” Liz said in a vague, crumb-laden voice, wedging herself into her corner of the backseat, as far away from the scuffle as possible, and fishing out her phone, which had just buzzed in her pocket. “Dad’ll blame me.”

 

She flicked up the text message she’d just received. Seconds later, a spray of crumbs, caramel, spittle and chocolate hit the back of Lyle’s neck, causing him to jolt forwards with a yell of disgust, and Liz doubled over, choking and coughing. Finn thumped her helpfully on the back.

 

 “What the hell?” Lyle demanded.

 

“Nothing!” Liz squeaked. “Nothing important!”

 

“Oh, I’m _sure_ ,” Stringer said, squeezing enough avuncular disbelief for a small country into three syllables. “Well, while Liz recovers from nothing important, and the battle to the death in the back seat continues, would someone be so good as to tell me who it was who came to talk to us? I’m looking at you, Jon.”

 

Lyle grinned. “That was Juliet’s mum, Emily. Also one of Lester’s best friends.”

 

Stringer smirked. “Well, if Juliet looks like _that_ , Liz...”

 

“They’re very alike,” Lyle said, because Liz was laughing too hard to respond. “Something funny, Liz, or is Finn’s brain-rot catching?”

 

“Nothing,” Liz gasped weakly, crying with laughter, at the same time as Finn’s betrayed yelp, which would have been louder and more impressive if he wasn’t fighting hard to keep Blade in a headlock.

 

Then a tyre exploded, and everything was forgotten in a maelstrom of shouting and swearing. Well... almost everything.

 

Sitting on top of the jeep, changed into jeans, a t-shirt and a fleece jacket thanks to a few handy bushes, and waiting for AA to arrive, Liz tuned out the sound of everyone cursing some absent and unknown culprit for forgetting to put a new spare tyre in the boot after using the last one, and re-read the text Juliet had sent her almost an hour ago now.

 

_mum wants 2 know, what’s the driver’s name. do u get this? makes no sense 2 me._

 

Liz grinned in the dying light, and her thumbs moved over the keypad of her phone.

 

_joel stringer. tell her he fancies her 2_

 

Mere seconds later, the response flashed up on the screen.

 

_u have unleashed a monster. she’s doing a victory dance._

 

 _good 4 her_ , Liz typed.

 

 _AT THE WHEEL_ , came the harried response. _if i die in a fire ball will u still love me?!_

 

_always. have a good holiday, ju._

 

 _c u soon_ , Juliet wrote, _unless i die a firey death,_ and Liz tucked her phone into her jacket pocket and slithered to the ground as the AA car drew up and everyone descended on it. She pulled Joel Stringer aside.

 

“You know Emily? You were asking about her earlier?”

 

Stringer looked down at her, puzzled and wary. “Yes?”

 

“She likes you, too,” Liz said. “If I were you, I would ask her out for a drink, but that is, of course, totally impossible, because I would never do anything stupid like pinch my dad’s phone to get Emily’s number and give it to you and if I did and it worked out you would owe me forever.”

 

Stringer stared at her. “Sometimes I’m not sure you should be allowed within a thirty mile radius of Lyle.”

 

Liz grinned the grin of a Lester who has his or her opponent over a barrel. “Yeah. So?”

 

Stringer sighed, and held out a hand to seal the deal. “If, hypothetically, you managed to get Emily’s number for me, I would, hypothetically, owe you forever. Why do I feel like Faust, all of a sudden?”

 

“If I knew who Faust was,” Liz said, shaking it, “I could tell you.”

 

Stringer glared down at her. “A stupid bloke who sold his soul to the devil.”

 

Liz grinned again, stuffing her hands in her pockets and twisting on her heels as if the joke was on Stringer. “Sounds about right.”

 


End file.
